I scowl at him. “Keep your damn voice down,” I say. It’s not really a secret, but I don’t need Orlando broadcasting it.
I sit and finally take a big bite out of my chili dog. It’s cold but still damn good.
“Dana Patel. Hot damn. What an athlete. I tried to talk you up to him. How’d I do?”
I grunt. “Fine. A little less talk about me rubbing off on you would be appreciated.”
I shift my eyes from the game to Orlando and see that he’s smiling. Quickly, I look back out at the field.
“I’m just saying. I know how to keep my shit together when we’re around other people,” he continues. “I have no intention of actually messing up your career, Troy. Hell, I don’t want to mess upmycareer.” He glances back into the suite, toward Zeke and Kevyn. “Every week I put in with this new training, I can feel myself getting a little better. I’m not about to rock the boat now.”
I huff. I’m not used to having someone reassure me. It feels strange, uncomfortable.
“You really give a shit about Marshall’s pitch?”
Orlando chuckles. “I developed a sudden interest in baseball recently. Even watched some old Philly games.”
He watched some of my old games. That makes me feel even weirder, so I finish off my chili dog.
“The standing around didn’t bore you?”
“Not too bad. There’s plenty of excitement, turns out.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a minute. From the corner of my eye, I sense him watching the game, reacting to it, right there with the pulse of play.
It’s just the two of us on this balcony, floating in the middle of the massive stadium. Orlando’s offer from the gym sits heavy in the air, but he’s right. The fact that we can behave ourselves, too, is a compelling argument to consider it.
Assuming we make it to the ninth inning without him pulling me into a dark doorway somewhere behind the stadium.
Would be fun to pull him, though.
I push the thought aside. My old team is playing, Dana Patel is seriously interested in the agency. And Orlando…
Orlando’s not the worst company in the world, if I’m being honest about it.
With a grunt, I open the Cracker Jack and offer the box to him. “Keep your eye on the shortstop,” I tell him. “That guy is on fire tonight.”
“Cool,” he says as he shoves his hand in the box. “Tell me what you know about this other team.”
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
ORLANDO
“What’s the pitch today?” I ask Stace. “Anyone you want me to target with a little charm?”
Stace shakes her head as she scans through some notes on her phone. “I’m here for information gathering. But if I cough lightly, you know what to say.”
“This is my friend Stace. She’s finishing her MBA this year and gearing up to launch her own recreational training platform and company.”
She looks up with a smile. “Nailed it. And if I pretend to sneeze?”
“I shut my mouth because I’m about to say something that I’ll regret later.”
We high-five.
“Teamwork,” I say. “Gotta love it.”
Today is the Philly Sports Expo, a major professional event that occupies an entire stadium. Zeke made a high-profile appearance earlier, and our coaches are talking tonight, but I’m just here for grunt work, an hour at the booth to shake hands and pose for photos.
